


Harrenhal Prep

by sophiestormborn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiestormborn/pseuds/sophiestormborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Stark siblings arrived at Harrenhall Prep joined by Robert Baratheon for a proper Southern education, but soon begin to suspect that something about Headmaster Aerys Targaryen is wrong. Yet as Ned and Brandon grow wary of the Targaryens and their staff, Lyanna becomes evermore curious in the Targaryen family, especially her history teacher Professor Rhaegar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A First Impression

The walls of Harrenhal Prep loomed tall and ominously as Brandon Stark’s car pulled up to the front door. The tinted glass did nothing to disguise the tumbling dark curls, red lips and rich blue eyes that were Lyanna Stark, peering sleepily at the deep set doorway and high, dark windows that threatened to steal away all that dared enter. The engine cut and Lyanna tore her gaze from the imposing view and threw a quick smirk at her brother Ned in the passenger seat, who was smiling at her with a crazed excitement that easily masked her lack of it. Brandon let out a loud growl of a yawn, stretching muscled arms until they seemed to fill the small confines of the car and playfully smacking Ned on the back of the head before rolling back his shoulders and letting a wolfish grin take over his handsomely sharp features. Lyanna sat up from the slouched, half-recline she had slept in to aim a quick kick at her oldest brother’s shoulder and let out a tiny yawn of her own. Brandon feigned a painful pout as he rubbed his arm with over-exaggerated enthusiasm, 

“Who’s a little sleepy head?” he cooed, mussing her bed head with one enormous palm. She stuck out her tongue and rubbed a night’s worth of sleep from her eyes, stretching muscles that were cramped from two days on the road. Her chance to respond was cut short by a violent pounding on Ned’s window, and a reverberating “EDDARD “ that seemed to shake the very foundations of the property. Ned pushed out of the car door and attacked Robert Baratheon with a mix of punches and slaps on the back that only the two of them knew the full extent of.  When they were finished their intricate handshake Brandon slipped from the drivers seat and made his way silently around the car, smirk painted on his face, before clapping Robert on the back so hard that he jumped forward. Lyanna smiled at the three of them together on the tarmac, her boys, she thought. 

They had grown up together, ever wandering the fields and forests that surrounded the Stark manor that her father Rickard had lovingly dubbed Winterfell, though why she never knew. She had run alongside the boys tackling and scrimmaging as well as any of them, sometimes better. Robert could only come upstate a few times a year, and even then only for a week or two at most, so their childhood memories had been precious in both the making and the keeping. Until the summer before last when Robert had stopped treating Lyanna like a sister and a friend, and more and more like a paramour. Though she had been kind to his advances at first, now she barely humored him. Still the sight of her three boys standing in the sunlight made her smirk a tiny bit. Brandon, though a year older than the other two, was of height with them, standing next to Ned their hair matched, making the raven black of Robert’s locks stand out. The light that hit their eyes turned them all a uniform pale grey, though she knew that Robert’s were as true a blue that eyes could be.

She climbed out of the car and was met by a huge bear hug that enveloped her entire body, yet it still managed to be gentle and out of old habit she beamed up at Robert. His gaze drank in her face, drifting over her features as her smile slightly fell under his bewilderment.

“I’ve missed you,” he half-whispered, the joking entirely gone.

She threw on a broad grin, “Aww, Robert. We all missed you too!”

His demeanor was only shaken for a moment before he pulled Ned into the crook of his other arm and walked the two of them towards the door with Brandon sauntering on beside them. Three sets of double doors lay one after the other, making their thresholds into a ribbed tunnel leading into a cavernous lobby of sorts that bloomed out from beyond the last arch. Lyanna couldn't help but do a double take as the luxurious room shouted it's extravagance from every marble column and gilded arabesque, from every velvet-cushioned window seat and every pointed arch that extended above them. A long polished desk lay parallel to the main entrance, it's occupent had a wash of boredom on his face but his beady eyes seemed to take in everything and everyone in the room, as if he was seeing right through them. 

"Hey! Doctor Varys!" Robert called to the man at the desk, whose dark eyes rolled purposefully from across the room to lock with Robert's. Varys gave a nod of acknowledgement and motioned for the four of them to come forward.

"Doctor?" Lyanna questioned under her breath as they made their way across the foyer. 

"Mhm," Robert looked down at her, moving his lips as little as possible. She could sense Ned's curiosity peak from the other side of Robert and a growing warmth behind her told her that even collected Brandon was anxious to hear the story. "Varys came here a couple of years back, though connections to the Dean I think, he doesn't really teach much, maybe picking up a class here and there when a teacher is sick. The doctor thing though is what really singles him out, no one in the school knows what the degree is in or if it even exists rumours say it's some sort of foreign thing that he got somewhere in the East, but no one knows for sure."

The last words in Robert's tale sent shivers down Lyanna's spine and as they neared the front desk she locked eyes with Dr. Varys and saw a sly knowledge burning behind their dark faces.

"The Stark children, I presume?" he spoke civilly with only the slightest trace of an unplaceable accent, yet she felt Brandon go rigid behind you. "Yes, of course" he mused, answering his own question. Making a steady, unnerving eye contact he gazed at each of them in turn. "Brandon, Eddard- though you prefer Ned, do you not?" Ned's quick nodding sent a smirk crawling across Varys' face, his eyes darted to meet Lyanna's. "And... Lyanna."

"We should be registered already," Brandon stepped forward his posture and control echoing that of their father's. "The paperwork was to be sent down."

"And it was, your father made sure of it, though I have no doubt that you would of done it as well, seeing as you are practically a copy of him," he seemed to take a small delight in everyones confusion. "Your father often visits, I imagine he should be coming down soon for the Benefactor's Ball in a few weeks, all of the highest families have some representation at these sort of events. I'll send a boy for your things-"

"Don't bother Dr. Varys," a voiced echoed from behind them, they all turned to see a slight boy pushing a luggage cart piled with their bags in front of him. A small grin coloured his sharp features and Lyanna placed him at about her own age. 

“It’s Baelish, right?” Brandon asked as the boy drew closer.

“Well, it’s Petyr, but Baelish would be my family name, so yes,” grey-green eyes swept across their little group before a spark of recognition lit them up and pulled thin lips up into a smirk. “Ah, the Stark’s, you’ve visited the Tully’s before haven’t you?” his gaze stopped on Brandon and his face fell. “You have at least, I know that.”

“Petyr,” Dr. Varys’ calming voice cracked through the tension. “If you are done making our new students irritated and uncomfortable, I would suggest that you show them their dorms. The boys are in Baelor and Lyanna is in Meraxes, thank you.” 

The wheels of the luggage cart squeaked as Petyr repositioned it towards a long hallway and motioned for the four of them to follow. Ned caught Lyanna’s gaze and they both shrugged, what was that? He asked silently, she just shrugged again and continued down the hallway after Robert and Brandon. The wide corridor was windowless and in the place of a view it was lined with dozens of portraits. Purple-painted eyes followed them down the hall, the Deans of decades past, pale faced and silver haired. 

“You’ll have to find your room yourself, I have to take the boys down this hall. Um, Lyanna?” 

“Oh,” she tore away from the portraits. “Of course, Petyr.”

“Now Petyr, are you really going to let a girl find her way around this place all by herself?” a honeyed voice questioned behind her. She whipped her head around to find herself less than a foot away from a dark, silken shirt, onyx buttons led a trail up to smooth pale skin. Spun-silver waves curled above a stiff collar, her eyes drank in a strong jaw and white teeth smirking beneath full, pink lips. Atop a set of sharp, angular cheekbones lay his eyes, but what eyes they were, Violet. Not a pale grey nor a blue nor a mix of the two but pure, untainted violet. “Professor Targayen,” the velvet voice rang through the air again, this time introducing itself. “But this isn’t exactly a classroom, so I’m sure Rhaegar would be fine. The Stark’s, I presume?”

“Y-yes,” Lyanna stepped away from him, regaining her composure. “And I can handle myself, thank you very much.” She reached for her bags on the cart and found only air. 

“I have those,” Rhaegar smiled. “And while I have no doubt you can handle yourself, consider this a welcome gesture. Besides, I was practically raised here, I can assure you that I can find your room quicker than you can.”  
With a final head nod marking the end of the discussion Rhaegar grabbed both bags and headed down the hallway.

“I don’t like this Ly,” Ned whispered. “He’s too smooth.”

“He’s also a teacher Neddybear, it’s not like he’ll try anything.”

Lyanna threw a quick grin over her shoulder to her boy’s dismay and followed Professor Rhaegar down the long corridor.


	2. Simmering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Brandon are introduced to where they'll be staying as well as a classmate or two that'll determine the enjoyment of that stay.

“I don’t like this, Ned,” Robert hissed as the four boys trudged down the corridor. “I don’t like him, any of them. The way that family runs the school, the students, the student’s parents? It’s not right Ned, I tell you, it’s just not.”

Ned and Brandon exchanged a well-worn glance, Robert’s eternal quest, his goal that ran parallel to his gaining of Lyanna’s love, his hatred of the Targaryens. Ever since he had started at Harrenhal at least a quarter of their summer conversations had been the rants of the middle Baratheon brother. He dragged on and on about secret schemes and whispered warnings strewn about the student body, ways to overthrow their unfair headmaster. There were times when even Ned turned from his lifelong friend and resorted to conversation with young Renly, who’s animated conversational ways left him red-faced and tousled.

A soft chuckle came from behind the luggage cart, Baelish had obviously been privy to their glance and his laughter only confirmed Ned's assumption that Robert's obsession took up his school year conversations as well. Brandon’s hand tightened into a barely-noticeable fist at his side at the sound of Petyr’s amusement. Ned had never heard the true story of their bitterness, though he knew Catelyn Tully was the root of it. Most of his understanding came from Brandon’s angry rantings whenever he returned from the Tully’s estate, raving on and on about the boy that Catelyn’s brother had nicknamed Littlefinger. 

“So, how did you end up with a job here, Baelish?” Brandon asked with a sneer.

“Well, you see it’s actually quite simple to find a job, Stark.” Petyr didn’t miss a beat. “That is, it’s simple for those of us that actually bother looking for them.”

“Is this us?” Ned piped up, gesturing to a oaken, carved door with a crude drawing of a wolf pinned to it. Brandon snarled and ripped the paper off the door sending the push pin clattering to the herringbone hardwood. In a flash Brandon’s large hand was on Petyr’s throat, pushing him against the dark paneling. 

“You think your funny, hm?” his face so close they’re foreheads were touching, Brandon’s eyes icy and without mercy.

“Please, let’s not get to hasty,” Petyr’s grin was unfaltering, though his breathing had gotten raspy. “I’m no artist, ask anyone. Hell, ask Cat. She’s known me for enough of my life.”

“You little shit-”

“Ah! I see you’ve gotten quite the welcome wagon,” a modulated voice echoed down the corridor. The three boys turned to see a golden haired boy ambling down the hallway with an easy elegance, hands just resting in the pockets of his pale khakis. The yellow curls that topped his lightly tanned face barely brushed the top of his stiff, white shirt collar.

“Mr. Jaime,” Petyr pushed out from under Brandon with a sneer. “I didn’t know you were visiting in today.”

“Well, when I heard the Stark’s were coming today, how could I resist?”

“I suggest you try resisting, Lannister, why don’t you scurry back to your cave,” Brandon had opened the door to the dorm and began pushing the cart in.

“Hey, that’s no way to treat a classmate, is it?” Jaime smirked, taking in their confused faces. “My father’s decided that we should be integrated into the student body. Something about looking humble when the Benefactors come for the game.”

“Game? I thought they were coming for a ball.”

“Well they come for the ball, of course,” apparently it was in the Lannister’s blood to make people feel below them. “But they stay for the rugby game, most extravagant event of the year. I came in for last year’s game, won of course, but this year we’re doing a student versus staff sort of thing.”

Ned and Brandon exchanged a look. They had both been playing rugby since they could walk, the fields of Winterfell had long been trampled by cleats and rolling, turbulent bodies. Ned was fast, faster even than little Benjen who seemed to fly across the ground. Brandon could tackle a man into the ground though, and more than once had sent Robert home from his holiday’s with a broken nose or a sprained wrist. One glance at Robert and the siblings knew he was thinking the same thing.

“Are there any spots left on the team?” Robert asked. “We’re all decent, dedicated too.”

“Well, I suppose we could squeeze you in,” Jaime assessed the boys. “We have our top seven already, but perhaps we could fit you in the sides. You’d have to try out of course.”  
“Of course!” Ned was grinning from ear to ear. Being civil wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be, and it wasn’t as if the blonde boy in front of him had ever done anything unforgivable, he was just a little arrogant.

“Perfect,” Jaime clapped his hands together, his classic sly smile filling out his princely features. He nodded his head as a goodbye and headed back down the hall. “I’ll see you boys in the field, 0800 Saturday morning, ‘kay?”

“Wait,” Robert called after him, waiting for him to turn around. “Will Professor Targaryen be playing on the other team.”

“I imagine he will, why?”

“No reason, thanks.”

They watched Jaime walk away with a steady stride, each step had an easy grace, the walk of someone on top of the world. The light of the wide, arched window caught the glow of the boys hair and made an entirely out of character halo around his high-held head. 

“You’re right next door to this guy,” Petyr clapped Robert on the shoulder and Robert cringed away from the long-fingered boy, moving to stand closer to his friends. “I’m sure you’ll find everything satisfactory, as long as you don’t break anything. Your room comes with a pair of desks, lamps, beds and side tables, as well as a fully equipped bathroom and two relatively large dressers. While everything is quite sturdy, I don’t know if even solid wood could withstand all the fury of the North, so try to keep hold of your tempers.”

Ned could feel Brandon’s rage building up and boiling over but the thin trickster was away down the corridor before the elder Stark brother could give him a piece of his mind. He had swept off with the cart, leaving their cases just outside the door. The room was more than satisfactory, perfect really for the two of them. They entered through a thin hallway that served as a foyer with a door on either side, one opening to a coat and hanger closet, the other to a white-tiled, bathroom with a carved mahogany vanity serving as a centre piece, two sinks set into it’s marble top. Continuing on the room opened up with a widely arched window, much like those at the end’s of the hallway, parallel to the entranceway. It was set deeply enough that there was room for a plush, midnight blue velvet cushion to be set into the sill as a window seat. Heavily carved desks flanked either side of the window, both paired with chairs that matched the fabric on the window seat. To the left of the doorway was a pair of double beds covered with soft white duvets, a stark contrast that seemed to glow against the dark wood of the bed frames and the wall paneling. 

“Nice, huh?” Robert teased from behind the brothers , well brother, Ned had already rushed forward and leaped across onto the bed closest to the window. His rare, boyish laugh expressing his delight in his fresh, tension-free abode. Brandon couldn’t help but chuckle along with his younger brother.

“Having fun?” a sweet female voice perked up from their doorway. 

“Lyanna!” Ned sat up, hair tousled and wide eyed. “Are you all set up?”

“Oh yes, ages ago,” she wandered in. “It’s almost identical, actually, though it’s decked out in red. I guess there’s more school spirit down in my wing.”

“And, the Professor?” Robert asked stepping in alongside her.

“Oh, Rhaegar? He was a perfect gentleman, showed me to my room and he was off. Though he did have time to give me a quick lesson.”   
“What kind of lesson?”

“It’s simple really,”she stepped closer to Robert and he stiffened. Her face came up so close that their cheeks were almost touching, she whispered in his ear. “Mind your own business.”

Brandon threw a pillow at the back of her head, “Aw, come on Ly, don’t be a tease!”

“Oh, shut up!” she laughed, throwing the pillow back, hitting him square in the chest.

“Actually, don’t really come here at all. Girls aren’t allowed in the boy’s dormitory.” Robert stated, apparently proud of the fact that he did know some rules.

“That may be so, but they are my brothers. I’m sure no one will mind.”

“They might mind more, actually. Vice Principle Tywin has a weird phobia of that sort of thing.”

“Oh come on, that’s just,” she shuddered. “Ugh, ok. On that note I’ll leave you.”

“See you at dinner tonight!” Ned called from his bed.

“Yep, see you!”


	3. Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna gets a new roommate, and Rheagar meets with an old enemy.

The intricate carvings that framed the full length mirror were distracting Lyanna from the dull clothing she was trying to assess. So many little animal, intertwining and writhing, tiny half-figurines of bears and lions and wolves, stags and vipers and birds. Yet the top of the frame was occupied by the immense wingspan of an exquisitely detailed dragon, fitting with the theme of much of the decor, she had noticed. A scaled pattern seemed to be favored throughout the school, curving up bannisters and twisting it’s way around bedposts, scalloping over the archways between corridors and common rooms. She found it to be very medieval and the over-lapping stonework gave a feeling of terrible confinement, as if a few more dents down the lines could change the scales to ropes of coiled chains. She twisted a discreet wrought-iron handle at the frame of the wide window and flung it open. The cool, chilled air of the early spring evening poured into the room and she turned her attentions back to the drab uniform.

Well it could be worse, she mused, turning right and left to see where the lines fell flat against her disappointing lack of curves. It could be plaid. The blouse was pretty enough, though revoltingly girlish when compared to the uniforms of her brothers. It fit snugly around the torso, hugging the waist in a sheath of downy white, then erupting in a bounty of ruffles in place of a tie. The sleeves were loose through the shoulder and arm but came to a narrow fitted cuff at the wrists. A deep maroon sort of red skirt fell from her waist in pleats, coming to rest at her knees, knees that were to always be covered in nylons when attending class or any other school related gathering, meals and extra-curriculars included. She grimaced at her reflection, red was never her colour, and ruffles certainly weren’t her style. She thankfully found no indication for a necessary footwear, so her one-black now worn, grey boots were pulled on, fitting her calf snugly and covering most of the tights. The look of her old boots with the new, stuffy uniform put an impish gleam in her eye and she let out a little giggle.

“Are you honestly considering wearing those boots with your uniform?” the door had swung open, bringing with it a stunning blonde and a forceful opinion.

“I think it’s a fairly clear assumption that I would be wearing the boots that I am currently, oh what is it? Oh, right, wearing.” Lyanna sneered at the girl, who had somehow managed to get the uniform to fit her like a glove. The blouse flowing into the skirt, which hugged the curve of her hips and her toned legs until it flared slightly mid-thigh, a look that could have made a less commanding girl seem sleazy but looked positively regal on-

“I’m sorry,” Lyanna looked at her. “But who are you?”

“Did no one tell you,” the girl motioned to an equally golden boy, though much younger, who dragged in a cart piled with suitcases. “Thank you Lancel, dear. We’re to be roommates, apparently, Cersei Lannister.”

Cersei stuck out her hand, light’s glinting off of perfectly manicured nails, and Lyanna reluctantly took it. 

“I wasn’t aware I would have a roommate,” Lyanna said, barely containing her displeasure.

“It often happens when you’re placed in a room that contains two beds.”

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious,”

The two girls held each other’s gaze for a moment longer before Lyanna plopped down on the bed closest to the window and dragged her bags up to the dresser across from it. Cersei motioned Lancel in and instructed him to unpack her things, how bloody fantastic.

*

“But I went last year!” 

The impertinent whine filled the music professor’s office until Rheagar was sure the windows would shatter.

“Yes, you did,” he leaned on the desk with his face in his hands. “And now you must go again this year.”

Eyebrows knotted over wide violet eyes as Viserys pouted, “But why!”

“Because Father insists we all attend every year.”

Viserys’ swinging feet stopped, dress shoes just centimeters from touching the plush carpeting. 

“Insists?” his voice had grown quiet, and Rheagar could hear the fear behind the whisper.

What the devil does he do to them when I’m not home? Rheagar’s thoughts ran rampant as he stared at the seven year old child in front of him, normally so fiery and eager, turned somber by the mere thought of their father. 

“Yes,” he struggled to calm him. “but I’m sure seeing you there would make him a very happy man indeed.”

Viserys smiled a little at that. 

“And... I may know something that will make you very happy.”

Viserys entire face broke out in a smile, ‘atta boy.

“What? What? What?”

“Well what makes you happy?” Rheagar had gotten up and began circling around to the bookshelves on either side of the wide set window.

“Oh!” Viserys jumped from the leather chair when he saw where his brother was heading. “Oh is it a book? Oh, please can it be a book?”

“It might be.” Rheagar tried not to laugh as the pale curls bounced over his little brothers eyes. “Can you guess what it’s about?”

“History?”

“Nope.”

“Music again?”

“What? No! Those are all mine, think stories.”

“Stories... Dragons! Rheagar, Rheagar is it about dragons?”

Rheagar laughed aloud and whipped a heavy red book from the shelf, it’s cover embossed with intertwined serpentine bodies and wings that reached their spindly membranes across the spine. Viserys’ eyes went wide as he took it in and his soft little hands opened and closed at his sides, already prepared to take it.

“Do you want it?” Rheagar grinned.

“Yes please.”

The smile on Viserys’ face was nothing short of radiant as he held the book and as he traced the detailing with a thin finger a gleeful giggle escaped his lips.

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” Rheagar watched his brother delicately turn the pages.

“I hope that didn’t come out of our school’s budget,” Viserys’ face fell and he began, once more, to tremble. The new voice was reminiscent to water falling on a   
pan, hissing and sputtering but all too commanding. Even Rheagar felt his spine stiffen at the sound.

“Of course not father-”

“On these grounds,” the voice rose to a resonating boom. “I am your employer, not your father.”

“Of course not, headmaster” he could barely conceal the sneer.

“Now,” he rasped, turning to the shivering boy. “What do you have there?”

“A-a book, father.”  “Ah, yes. You and your reading. And what is this book about?”

“Dragons.”

Aerys’ eyes darkened at the mention of them, of dragons.

“Are you very fond of dragons, my son?”

“Y-yes,” the trembling had returned to Viserys’ voice and it broke Rheagar’s heart all over again.

“Smart boy,” a grin twisted Aerys’ face and he took a shiny silver-wrapped candy from his pocket. “Here you go.”

“Thank you father,” Viserys tried to smile as he backed away towards the door, nodded his head and left.

“What are you doing here?”

“Why Professor Rheagar, it’s my school,” Aerys said, clasping his chest in mock offense. “What a rude thing to say.”

“I meant what are you doing in my office, headmaster.” Rheagar shook his head at his father’s arrogance. “Contrary to popular belief, I do have work to do.”  “And we have work to discuss.”

Rheagar raised his eyebrows, when does father have real working concerns?

“The Stark’s are here.”

Ah, that’s it. “Yes I’ve noticed, I was introduced to them.”

“I don’t want them here, Rheagar.”

“They’re children.”

“Children who have the blood of men who once opened their own institute in the North before we stopped their funding.”

“Do you really think three teenagers are going to send your school spiraling into decay?”

“No, I doubt it, but their father will be here for the ball and Rickard Stark is the last person I want to see with that idea in his head.”

“It’ll be fine,” Rheagar breathed in an attempt to stop this unnecessary loathing.

“And, it doesn’t help that the younger boy is buddy-buddy with Robert-conspiracy-theory-Baratheon!”

“Please, father,” he pleaded. “Just leave it to me.”

“Truthfully?”

“Yes.”

“I leave this in your hands, don’t disappoint, me son.”

“Or what?” Rheagar wondered out loud.

“Just watch me,” and Rheagar caught that glint of madness in his father’s eyes, a reflection of the leaping flame from the candle on his desk.


End file.
